


Consumed (your sex is on fire)

by AvaRosier



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Olympics AU, minor voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa and Jon have had their eye on each other and tonight, they'll finally do something about it.</p><p>(This is just straight-up smut, no plot to be found here)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consumed (your sex is on fire)

From one direction, she could hear the pounding bass of an alt rock song; in the other, the skipping rhythms of a rap song. Neither were in English. The competing melodies crash into one other, adding to her sense of dissociation, along with the alcohol just beginning to make her brain bleed out at the edges. Because of it, tonight she can be brave. Which is an odd thing to think when she just won a gold medal today.

She had been utterly focused on winning match after match that it's only now she feels like she can let her hair down (literally and figuratively) and get a taste of the infamous partying that went on in the Olympic Village. The hallway is dimly lit, filled with milling bodies of other athletes that are also chasing a temporary escape from the months and years of training. Honestly, what else could anyone expect when you put thousands of young people from dozens of countries in a relatively small space?

The United Nations of Sex, basically. No need to worry about language barriers. There was a reason why the IOC made sure to supply them with an unfathomable amount of condoms, after all.

Sansa pauses before a door purposefully left ajar and watches raptly as Asha, a gold medalist rower, pins a pretty brunette beneath her, fingerfucking the poor girl until her face scrunches up as she strains toward her orgasm. Face warming, Sansa revels in the bloom of arousal that flares through her lower body for a moment before she forces her feet to move on down the hallway. Taking another sip of her fruity rum concoction, she spots a doorway with two men and a woman clustered closely together as they watch whatever is going on in there with half-lidded eyes.

Too curious for her own good, Sansa peers over the woman's shoulder as a familiar-looking man kneels on a twin bed, steadily fucking a blonde from behind. She's clutching at the sheets and the view of her breasts bouncing from the force of his thrusts has Sansa's skin prickling with the heaviness of her own need. She's never been in a situation like this before, where people are having sex in public, inviting others to indulge in some voyeurism. Granted, she's only nineteen, but even now that she's away from home at university, she'd never figured out how to 'go wild'.

Just watching them right now is getting her wetter than she'd ever gotten with her exes, Joff and Harry. A pox on them both.

A swimmer from the Australian team reaches lightly for her hand, a question in his eyes. Sansa shakes her head and continues on. It's not the first such proposition of the night, but it's not the one she wants. This is the third floor she's searched in her quest for the elusive Jon Snow.

Jon, whose dirty, sweaty form she's been ogling during match playbacks on her laptop, fingers pushing underneath the hem of her panties. From what she's seen, he's not a gregarious man and he rarely smiles, but he was far from pretentious and she's never seen a hint of the vicious temper that sometimes came out of men in physically competitive situations.

She knows his story: how he'd grown up poor with a single mother, how he'd used the money he earned from rugby to look after her. He's been involved in mentoring and dozens of charitable organizations for years now, even before he had become a big name in the UK sports world.

When Sansa first googled him, she'd found the black-and-white pictures from a photoshoot he'd done where he's very clearly naked, his bits barely covered by a rugby ball held loosely between thick fingers. Between the rock-hard abs, the muscular arms and thighs, and the dark, curly hair left loose...Sansa had been a goner. The come-hither look in his dark eyes haunts her still.

Sansa had gone to Margaery, wanting to know which building and which floor the UK men's rugby team were staying. That had gotten her a wry twist of the lips and a knowing glint from the older woman's eyes. Margaery knew lots of people from all over, but even she had only been able to give Sansa a rough guess of four floors. Those four floors had given Sansa quite the eyeful already. She's not sure what she'll do if she finds him. Say something flirtatious and seductive? Something that would convince him to take her back to his room so they could _fuck_.

She would really like to know what a good fucking feels like.

A hand touches her back, startling Sansa enough that she nearly drops her drink. Turning, she comes face to face with the very man she sought. All the phrases she'd practiced in her head suddenly sound stupid as she stares into Jon's eyes. She's as tall as he is, maybe a bit taller, which thrills her. It's hard to resist the urge to lean into his body, warm and firm where it presses against her side.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon is two floors above his own, hanging out with some of the Australian and German swimmers he'd befriended earlier in the week, finally enjoying a night off now that his team has finished with their own shiny silver medal. Naturally, this is when Tormund Giantsbane bursts in, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and not even bothering to look at him as he drags him bodily towards the doorway. Since Jon isn't in the habit of just going along with people, he digs his heels in, breaking Tormund's hold on him and glaring at the other man.

“What the fuck? Goddamn it, man, stop!” Tormund gives him a resolute shake of his head.

“No time, Snow. Your redhead's two floors down looking for somebody, and I figure that somebody is you.”

Jon doesn't understand at first, gaping at Tormund in confusion. “My redh- _Sansa_? Sansa's downstairs? Doing what?” With each subsequent question, Jon's voice rises higher, making Tormund sneer at him. They had been on rival teams back home but Tormund was sort of his friend now that they're on the same Olympic rugby team.

“What the fuck do you think she's doing? Watching the shows everybody's putting on. Given how she's turned down every offer she's had, you might actually have a chance.”

Before Jon can form another thought, Tormund propels him through the fire doors and onto his own floor. Jon doesn't even bother to glare back at him, too entranced by the glimpse he's just gotten of Sansa standing halfway down the hallway, biting her lip as she watches whatever is happening inside one of the rooms. Unable to take his eyes off her, he begins to trail after her, taking in the way the floral maxidress she's wearing lightly skims her hips. Jon could just imagine gripping those hips as he thrusts his cock into her.

Jon had first noticed Sansa Stark the day after the opening ceremony. Since they were a part of the same national delegation, it had been virtually impossible for him to not be drawn towards her long red hair like a moth to a flame. He couldn't seem to stop staring at her and it had taken precious little time to suss out her identity: Sansa Stark, one half of the British beach volleyball team and odds-on-favorites to medal at the Rio games.

He'd watched some of her matches and half fell in love with the way she'd smile sweetly even at her fiercest competitors. When her opponents in the final badmouthed her, likely in an effort to psych her out, Sansa had said nothing, done nothing. She'd behaved with her usual polite decorum but when the match began, she had become casually ruthless: forcing her opponents to do exactly what she wanted and then driving the ball into the sand they'd left open for her.

It was possibly the hottest thing Jon had ever seen in his life. Especially when she smirked at the team she'd just defeated as she walked off the sand.

Pretty much all his teammates knew within 24 hours that he fancied her, and they'd ribbed him mercilessly, telling him that if he didn't man up and talk to her they'd take matters into their own hands. Jon believed their threats wholeheartedly.

There was no way he could fail to notice how several sets of eyes are roaming over her body, causing a dark emotion to flare up inside him. Decision made, he outright strides the last few feet until he can reach out and rest his hand against the curve of her back. She gasps and turns to face him, eyes widening perceptibly when she realizes who he is. Jon knows he ought to say something, _anything_ , to let her know how beautiful he finds her, how he'd like to talk to her and then maybe make out, no pressure. He knows that he needs to show her in some way that he isn't just some random dude who wants a fuck with the first pretty girl he finds that night.

He's never been good at justifying a hookup with a stranger to himself.

But Sansa surprises him, lifting her arm over his head until she curls it around his shoulders. "Well hello, it's the man I was looking for," she says, surprising Jon with how low and throaty her voice is. Those brilliant blue eyes of hers blink at him in silent expectation and Jon nearly groans when he realizes how wide her pupils are with desire. Taking the hint she is giving him, he curves an arm around her waist, resting his hand on her hip before guiding her towards the room he shares with Grenn.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa can't believe this is actually happening. She forces herself to focus on keeping her breathing even, though her lungs are tightening with the urge to hyperventilate. Through the cotton material of her dress, his touch burns. They soon reach a door she assumes must be to his room and Jon opens it a crack, craning his head through the dark opening to call out to whomever is currently occupying it. The hallway is too noisy for her to hear, but Sansa is just tipsy enough to start running her hand over Jon's shoulders, shamelessly feeling him up as she squeezes her thighs together in anticipation.

She looks up just in time to see him glancing back at her with an amused half-smile that has her insides fluttering. “My roommate's in there, but he's pretty busy with someone. They won't bother us or try to join in,” he frowns as a thought occurs to him. “Unless you want-”

“That's alright,” she interrupts. “All I want is you.”

She could kick herself for that cheesy line, but what the hell, it's one of her favorite U2 songs anyways. Jon doesn't roll his eyes or scoff at her, he just opens the door wider and ushers her through into the room that is dark save for a covered lamp. In the dim light, she can just barely make out the shape of a head bobbing up and down over a man's lap. Yeah, she really can't believe this is happening.

Jon closes the door with a noisy click, not interrupting the wet sounds behind them in the slightest. He still hasn't let go of her, either. “How much have you had to drink?” He asks her huskily, stepping closer until he is just brushing against her breasts. Gooseflesh breaks out down her arms and across her back and chest.

He's making sure she isn't too drunk to consent! The realization has Sansa beaming with joy. “Just what was in this cup.” Feeling brazen, she sets said cup down on the nearest surface and gently shoves Jon back into the door so she can press herself into the hard planes of his body. He lets out a soft huff of surprise, which she feels right on her lips as she captures his with her own.

Into that kiss, she pours all her want, sweeping her tongue just barely in between the seam of his lips before biting down. He jerks against her, locking his arms around her waist before breaking away from her lips to press chaste, butterfly-soft kisses along the side of her neck. The scrape of his beard in between her jaw and shoulder makes a broken moan escape her throat. Jon propels her backwards, making the world spin- as if she would fall and fall if it wasn't for the anchor his body was providing. She wriggles in his hold, grinding herself against the hardness growing in his jeans. Jon lifts his mouth away from her skin to look her in the eye.

“God, you're a hungry little thing, aren't you?” He asks with wonderment in his voice. It holds none of the disgust her exes had whenever she tried to do what she wanted.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes I am.”

The next thing she knows, she is being borne back towards the empty bed and lowered until her bottom is at the edge. She tosses her purse onto the floor below, watching as Jon kneels before her with heated eyes. She bites her lip at the sight, only this time Jon is the one who cups his hand around the back of her neck and angles his head up to kiss her.

Sansa pushes back against the intensity of it, wanting to give as good as she is getting. There is something so unbelievably naughty about the way Jon swipes his tongue into her mouth, something masterful and certain. It has her aching to rub herself against him. She hums as a particularly well-aimed lick against the roof of her mouth has her shivering and her nipples tightening even further against the material of her dress. Her hands abandon their positions against Jon's shoulderblade and abdomen in order to tug on the knot at the back of her neck that is holding the halter-top of her dress up.

Jon wastes no time dotting wet, open-mouthed kisses from her jawline down to her chest before enveloping one nipple in hot heat. With every suckle, every scrape of his tongue over the bud, it's like a direct conduit from there to her clit. Sansa coos softly, holding his head to her breast as he works her over before switching to the other breast.

By the time she manages to tug his head away, her panties are a damp mess. “Please,” she begs him, looking at him without seeing.

“I got you, darling girl. Just scoot a little closer,” he murmurs, drawing the hem of her dress up over her thighs until he has it past her bottom. Then he hooks his fingers in her panties and Sansa's mind short-circuits, barely able to lift herself so he could pull them down and off her legs.

Practically naked save for her dress bunched around her waist, Sansa lies back until she is reclining on the bed, legs hanging over the side. A part of her brain is still in denial, not daring to hope. Maybe he's just going to unzip himself, roll on a condom, and fuck her this way. Mayb-

She lets out an undignified yelp when Jon nips at her inner thigh, making him chuckle before he laves the wound with his tongue. Gently, but insistently, Jon circles his hands around the inside of her knees and pushes, forcing her legs wider apart. Now she can feel his hot breath drifting over where she's unbearably wet. The first lick with the broad base of his tongue has Sansa nearly arching off the bed, twitching against it. Jon lets out a muffled noise before diving in with gusto.

Sansa loses the ability to think, all she can do is react, reaching down to comb her fingers through his curls so she can keep him right where she needs him. Distantly, she is aware not only of the wet sounds now coming from between her thighs but the babbling noises she is making. There are a lot of ' _oh_   _pleases_ ' and ' _like thats_ ' and ' _yes Jons_ '. She would be embarrassed if not for the fact that nobody has ever eaten her out with such enthusiasm (or skill).

At one point, she raises her head out of curiosity, only to meet Jon's eyes over her mound, his lips glistening as they remain latched onto the hood partially covering her clit. Just knowing he had been watching what he was doing to her has her eyes falling closed again. It registers that it isn't just Jon watching, that the man and woman on the other bed are also watching, using the visual to aid themselves as they rock together. That's when Jon brings the tip of his tongue out to lash against her clit: first up and down, then in circles, then side-to-si- _ah_!

“ _Fuck_!” She shouts.

Her orgasm crests lightning fast, her muscles tensing until she is bucking against his hold across her hips, keening loudly as everything bursts into pleasurable ripples. She can't seem to stop shaking, but Jon continues to tongue her through it, drawing every shudder from her body until her leg is twitching from the intensity of it.

Sansa pushes rather ineffectually against Jon's forehead, finally giving up just as a second orgasm hits her like a whip. She surrenders to it, raising her knees up onto the bed and opening herself up to the last few contractions, unashamed of how utterly wanton she must look now. As she lingers in a post-orgasmic haze, Jon deftly traces his tongue in between her folds and then finally presses a gentle kiss against the hood covering her still-sensitive clit, making her squirm.

Finally, he rises back up onto his knees and rests half-slumped over her, panting heavily against her abdomen. “Oh wow,” she mumbles, letting her legs dangle over his shoulders. “If it were up to me, I'd never let you stop.”

“If it were up to me, I'd never _want_ to stop,” Jon agrees, nosing her dress further up around her waist so he can nuzzle the taut skin over her abs.

She may have just had two orgasms, but Sansa is still hungry for more. She doubts she would come from penetration, but she wants to see Jon lose control with his cock inside her. “C'mere,” she orders him, pulling on his biceps until he finally gets to his feet and yanks his shirt over his head before divesting himself of his jeans and underwear. Sansa rises onto her elbows and drinks him in. The reality is a thousand times better than the pictures, especially now that he's let his chest hair grow back. His cock is already hard, jutting out from his pelvis, almost perpendicular with his body but weighed down by the blood thickening it.

Sansa may have let out a whimper of want.

Her eyes trail back up the line of his body and flush at the knowing smirk on Jon's face.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon stares down at the pretty picture Sansa makes, utterly wrecked with her thighs parted, her dress bunched around her ribcage, and her breasts still heaving from the effects of her orgasm. He can still taste her on his tongue, and seeing the tufts of reddish hair sticking out above her cunt was making him want to bend back down for another taste. But from the way Sansa is eyeing him, staring at his cock and making noises like that, she has other things in mind.

He scoops her up and spins them around before lying back on the bed, encouraging her to straddle his hips. He doesn't even need the sound of Grenn and his paramour whispering filthy endearments to make him harder than he already was. She doesn't seem to need any encouragement to drop her hips until she's sliding herself along the underside of his cock, spreading her slick along the shaft. Just the sight alone has his lower belly clenching painfully with the need to come. His mind is a chaotic whirl of arousal and jumbled up images of pounding her into the mattress.

Jon hisses when she rocks over the sensitive head, gripping her hip and ass the way he'd fantasized about earlier. Straddling him the way she is, it makes her hair fall down like a fiery curtain. Then Sansa bites her lip again and Jon realizes that as hungry as she is, as wonderfully uninhibited as she can be, there's a part of her that is uncertain.

“Hold on, let me grab a condom,” he tells her, taking a bit of initiative for her sake. He twists around to reach for the drawer in between the two beds. He'd grabbed two of the provided condoms earlier and dropped them in there.

“Oh, that's alright! I brought some,” Sansa chirps, scrambling down the bed to reach for her purse on the floor. Jon takes a moment to admire the muscular length of her leg and the way her ass clenches bef-

“Here!”

Jon gapes as she dumps no less than seven condoms onto his chest. She's beaming so proudly he can't help grinning right back. “Perfect.”

Brushing most of the packets to the floor, he tears into the wrapping of one with his teeth. “Back up a bit, love,” he tells her. Sansa lifts herself away from his cock so he could roll the condom over it. “Alright then.”

He offers her his upturned palms so she can brace herself. She grasps one, leaving her other hand free to reach down and grip him, angling his cock so she could lower herself onto him. The sight is so erotic, Jon has to fight the urge to close his eyes. He waits her out, until she finally does this little wriggle with her hips to get him fully sheathed. And when she does...

“God, you're beautiful,” he groans as she begins to rock and slide back and forth, her cunt lazily clenching down on his cock. His eyes are rapidly losing focus, so Jon cups her breasts, palming the nipples and making Sansa gasp and shiver. Which, in turn, makes him gasp and moan. “Sansa...”

“Yes,” she whispers, canting her hips harder and faster against him. Jon can feel the pleasure tightening at the base of his spine and his balls begin to contract. Fucking hell, just the sight of Sansa riding him like a prize pony, breasts wobbling slightly with the force of her thrusts, has him ready to spill into his condom like a fourteen year old boy. That just won't do, so Jon licks his thumb then dips it in between her thighs, pressing in against the tiny nub surrounded by damp red hair and sticky flesh. It only takes shallow motions from side-to-side, which he'd noticed earlier really did the trick with her. This time is no exception.

“Jon, Jon, _Jonjonjon_!” Her voice builds up into a wail, her body jerking out of rhythm with his. Jon takes in the way her hair slides around her shoulder, the upthrust of her breasts, the visible contraction in her abdominal muscle and the look and feel of her cunt clamping down around his cock- then he's gone.

He comes with a hoarse shout, grabbing ahold of her hips and digging his heels into the mattress so he could thrust roughly up into her once, twice, and then after the third time finally collapse onto the bed, trembling slightly. When he opens his eyes, Jon watches on in awe as Sansa, resting her hands over his, moves her hips ever so slightly to draw both of their pleasure out. While she traces his fingers, he slides his hands along the sides of her breasts, resting at the base of her throat before gliding down her back, eliciting shivers and a hum of contentment from Sansa.

As if reminding them of his presence, Grenn lets out an expletive, murmuring, “Holy fucking shit.”

Jon purposefully ignores him, just like Sansa does as she quietly lifts herself off of him and kneels next to him, waiting. Jon takes the hint and removes the condom, tying it off and stuffing it in a wad of kleenex. Only after he had disposed of it does Sansa tug on the covers beneath him, forcing him to bounce around inelegantly as they are pulled down and then over their bodies. In the dim light of the room, Jon could just make out the utterly sated smile on her face as she snuggles into his side and rests her cheek on his shoulder.

“Maybe we can use up one of the other condoms in the morning?” she murmurs throatily, rubbing her thumb over the vee in his hipbone. His spent cock gives an interested twitch.

“Waste not, want not,” he agrees as he pulls her closer.

 


End file.
